Based very loosely on a set of four acceptance speeches for awards won at the New Zealand Music Awards: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d7zXwRWcn0M. When Bret breaks his bed doing an epic rock ‘n’ roll move it sets off a chain of events that lead to unexpected desire, confusion, heartache and, finally … acceptance.

His expression was heartbreaking, because Jemaine understood it completely. It said, ‘touch me, but please don’t make me ask for it. Please don’t make me talk about it.’

:::::☆ ☆:::::

As he slowly became aware of his surroundings again, he heard Jemaine whisper, ‘Bret, I love you’.

Oh. Holy. Shit.

‘No you don’t,’ said Bret, numbly. Jemaine opened his mouth as though to speak and then closed it again, confused. That wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. Not that he’d been expecting anything in particular. He’d said it without thinking, surprising himself as much as Bret. Still, he hadn’t expected to be contradicted. ‘Um...I think I do,’ he said.

‘No,’ said Bret more fiercely, ‘You /don’t/.’

‘...Why?’ asked Jemaine, stupidly. He had the ominous feeling that this was going to be a truly horrible conversation.

‘Because you don’t, OK? You can’t. It’s one thing...fooling around...but this...you just can’t. This is messed up enough already.’

Bret’s eyes were stinging. He wiped the back of his clean hand over them and turned from Jemaine, angry and sad and hating all of this. He was sure he was doing the right thing. They had already probably ruined their friendship by introducing sex into it. To pile confessions of love onto the heap was some kind of suicide. Better to call the whole stupid affair off and try to get back some of what they had before. God, he missed his best friend. And yet, deep down, he realised that he too wanted something more. He wanted to hold Jemaine forever. He wanted Jemaine to be his, /his/, no one else’s. But that was a fantasy and he was in over his head and drowning and the only possible lifeline was to say...

Bret stared at Jemaine, pale and drained. This was, without question, the worst thing he had ever done in his life. He felt like he’d been given a beautiful, perfect flower and torn it apart. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice cracked with tears. ‘We can...we /will/ get over it. We will.’

:::::☆ ☆:::::

Jemaine reached down and dragged Bret up by the front of his shirt. Before Bret could struggle or protest, he found himself shoved roughly against the filing cabinet, the metal cold through his shirt and contrasting deliriously with the heat of Jemaine holding him there. Jemaine’s thigh was between his legs, pressing against his crotch, and Jemaine had one hand around his wrist and another wound tightly in his hair. Jemaine’s breath was hot against his neck. Bret was caught helplessly between arousal and fear. Jemaine had been assertive before, but never like this. It wasn’t like him.

‘Is this what you want?’ growled Jemaine into Bret’s ear. ‘This is what you asked for, isn’t it? This is what you’ve been asking for every time you turned me on when you /knew/ I wouldn’t do anything about it because I love you. And well done. Congratulations. I’ve been tempted. I’ve been tempted every time. You’d like me to give in now, wouldn’t you? Damn bastard cocktease. I can tell you’re dying for it. I should fuck you right here against the filing cabinet. But you know how it would end up? Exactly how it ended up before. Don’t you get it? I love you. I’m in love with you and every time you deliberately make me want you it tears me apart a little more. So if you don’t love me, stop leading me on, fuck off and let me type my fucking email in peace. Please.’

Bret’s eyes grew wide for a second, as though something had suddenly become clear to him.